


Your Mind Is Like Starlight

by moonwenda



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Has Issues, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I am literally the worst at tagging, I just like making people cry, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, So much angst, Suicide Attempt, Why do I do this to myself, also hurt with no comfort I guess, honestly it's a problem, if they work together they work together I merely write them, no fucking clue, potentially eventual poly?, so many issues, there will be more tags as we progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwenda/pseuds/moonwenda
Summary: Alexander Hamilton was broken, deeply so. However, as fate would have it, he could not find release in death, instead he was forced to go through the tedious process of recovering, becoming someone far more whole than he had ever thought possible.





	1. The Victim [an overture]

**Author's Note:**

> It is I, requesting that you feed me what the title of this work describes the human mind as-... no, seriously, hello. I still don't sleep. I intend to continue this as often as I can find the time an inspiration to do so, as this 'verse is something of a pet of mine these days. I shamelessly self-project into Alexander's character and deeply apologize for each and every inaccuracy we will run along the way. I will post trigger warnings as we proceed, too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dull, loaded silence had floated in the room and for once, Alexander Hamilton had been left speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this chapter was originally written in Finnish to serve as an opening for a RP. I decided to translate and edit it as my desire to explore this 'verse grew.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CH1: self-harm, attempted suicide

Recalling the events of that night later had been hard for Alexander – excruciatingly so. He had suffered from anxiety, from depression, for _years_ , the fear of rejection settled deep in his gut. When it had finally hit him, so tangible and concrete, something inside of him had shattered permanently. The small man had stood in his fiancé’s living room, still, feeling as if he was floating outside of his own body, powerless. All Alexander had been able to do had been staring at the man – his lover, his Thomas – sitting on the couch, his new, better, intact lover in his arms. A dull, loaded silence had floated in the room and for once, Alexander Hamilton had been left speechless.

It had been Thomas’ voice, that raspy, yet soft southern drawl, that had eventually sprung him into action. Alexander had shaken his head violently, so strongly, for so long that he had, for a moment, feared it would roll off from the mere gesture. No, he did not want – nor need – to hear the taller man’s explanation, his no doubt _impeccable_ reasoning as to why Alexander should have stayed, for he had known he was broken. Too broken to ever be loved like the small, dark man now staring at him from the couch, eyes wide and expression apologetic. That moment, all of it, had been the catalyst for Alexander’s actions that night, under the heavy cover of darkness.

Alexander had run all the way to his own apartment – several blocks, hell, further than the small man had ever thought he would have been able to run – feeling his lungs begging for mercy, tasting blood, that bittersweet, metallic tinge of life. He had collapsed onto the cold tile floor of his bathroom, rocking himself back and forth as loud sobs tore their way out of his throat. Was this how it had been supposed to end all along? Did he really, in all honesty, have to find his lover kissing another man, pushing him against the couch cushions, mumbling words previously only meant for Alexander?

After what had felt like hours the man had finally been able to tear himself up into a standing position, hands squeezing onto the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles had been white. He had stared at his own reflection in the mirror, disgusted with his tear-streaked, blotchy face.  
_No wonder he found someone else_ , the voice in his head had taunted him. _No wonder he wanted someone less fucked up in the head._

Alexander had reached into the cupboard above the sink, rifled through the mess until he had pulled out two orange prescription bottles, both about halfway filled with pills, pills meant to make the voices in his head go away. A laughter had worked its way out of his mouth, chapped lips parting even as tears still ran slowly down the man’s cheeks. He had poured a considerable number of pills from each bottle onto a cupped hand, not particularly caring how much of which. All he had wanted had been to feel the bliss of ignorance, the touch of unconsciousness.

After that it had all become a blur. Alexander had felt almost giddy with excitement as he had pulled out a clean razor and curled up on the white tile floor once again. He had rested his back against the cold, unrelenting bathroom wall before pressing the razor against the skin of his wrist.  
_Old habits truly die hard_ , he had thought as he searched for that sweet spot in the centre of his forearm. The feeling of floating, of observing the events but not really participating in them, had found its way back into Alexander’s body as he had slid the razor across his skin in a slow, determined manner.  
_Horizontally for attention, vertically for results_ , the voice in his head had chimed in with an edge of pride at the man’s actions. The pain had been unbearable, the blade sinking deeper into Alexander’s skin than ever before.

Later, as the man had been told his survival had been something akin to a miracle, he had broken down in bitter tears. Even _death_ did not want him. The voices in his head had laughed in mockery, delighted at his failure.  
_Try harder next time! You are pitiful, cannot even end your own life, something so easily extinguished, resting on the palm of your hand!_

The days – first in the emergency room, then intensive care unit – had blurred together into a mass of hours spent crying, turning in restless sleep and wishing he had done a better job at ending his miserable existence. Finally, when Alexander had been told that he would be moved to a mental ward, he had not been surprised, however the words had still felt like a punch thrown at his already fragile body. A bag of his personal belongings had been brought to him later, courtesy of Thomas: a laptop, a few books and a change of clothes. His phone had been nowhere to be seen, not that he would have needed it anyway. Who was going to call him? Thomas himself? Hardly. It had been his _fiancé’s_ decision to shut him out, to hide him away from the world inside those white walls. As Alexander had examined his new bedroom, he had not been able to shake one very specific thought from his head: if he was supposed to be healing, getting better in here, should he not have been allowed to feel _at_ _home_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and that's how we end up in the beginning of the actual story. Thoughts, comments, feedback, the floor is yours. I'm also potentially in search of a beta to help me with this story, so if you feel like you want to be involved, give me a holler!
> 
> 'Til I next can be arsed posting.


	2. You Forfeit All Rights To My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nobody ever plans to wind up in here, of all places."  
> "True."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! We get to meet people! John thinks Alex is pretty, Alex thinks he would bang Laf if the situation wasn't what it was and everybody's favourite TJeffs makes an appearance. There's some swearing, take a wild guess by whom.

John Laurens sighed, adjusting his mint-green scrubs. He had never liked his work attire per se, but there was little the man could do. It was about being professional, not about his personal style. He glanced at the clipboard in his hand and frowned. At the bottom of the list there was a new name. This, of course, was not alarming as such. Their patients tended to change quite frequently, it was just the suddenness of it. He was pretty sure the name had not been there on Friday when he had worked his last shift. _Oh well._

He knocked on the door before pushing his small cart in, a hint of a smile on his face. It would help the new guy if he smiled, right? Would make his situation less daunting to grasp if he saw a friendly face.  
“Mr. Hamilton? Alexander?” he asked, walking closer to the bed, where a small man lay bundled up in what looked to be at least two blankets. John huffed, ever so slightly amused, but there was no answer. “I’m John. John Laurens. One of the nurses in this ward. I’ll be taking care of you during your stay.” This seemed to stir the man, elicit some sort of a response.

“Confinement”, the figure on the bed grumbled, reluctantly moving his blankets aside as he sat up. “This isn’t a voluntary stay. Your ward is not a fucking hotel and I want to go home.” John couldn’t help but laugh at that as he placed a small plastic cup with a few pills in it on the nightstand.  
“Sure, whatever you say”, he mused and went to open the curtains. The man – Alexander – hissed, clearly not fond of the thought of daylight entering the room. “Let it be, it’ll be good for you, yeah?”  
  
“No. It’ll fuck with my sleeping”, Alexander whined, sounding almost like a petulant child. John turned around to take a proper look at his patient and could not help his jaw from dropping. Even with a pale complexion and in hospital-issued pyjamas, the small man was _beautiful_. Black hair cascading down to his shoulders, full lips, a body that looked lean yet somehow soft. For a split second the nurse wondered what it would feel like to rest his head against that stomach, then shook his head and cleared his throat.

“So, Mr. Hamil-…” John began, but was cut short by a grumbled _‘Alexander’_. “Alexander, then. How’re we feeling this morning?” The black-haired man shrugged, stretching himself lazily.  
“Given the situation? I guess I’m fine”, he muttered, grabbing a hair tie from the nightstand and tying his hair up on a messy bun on the top of his head. “I really don’t see why I have to stay here. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

John laughed shortly, shaking his head.  
“The evidence suggests otherwise”, he said. “You’re here for a reason, Alexander.” The nurse poured water into a plastic cup and handed both the water and the small container of pills over, folding his arms across his chest as he waited for Alexander to take his medicine. The black-haired man sighed and with only once scowl and a not-so-subtle roll of his eyes, he complied, swallowing down the offered pills.

“Well done”, John complimented with a slightly mischievous grin spread across his face. “So, we have a moment before I need to run, anything you want to know? Anything you need?” Alexander simply huffed, curling into a ball on the bed, dragging his blankets over himself.  
“The comfort of my own home?” he grumbled, making the nurse snort in slight amusement as he shook his head, an incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re really stubborn.”  
“Well, all I’m saying is I would be better off in a familiar environment.”  
“Of course. Which is exactly what this ward will become for you, in no time at all. Soon enough you’ll be on first name basis with the staff, all chummy”, the freckled man promised with a friendly pat on Alexander’s shoulder. “For example, I can tell _we’re_ going to be the best of friends. Now, let’s get you some breakfast and I think you have a meeting with Laf… yeah. Hop up, fighter, France is expecting you in no less than forty-five minutes!” And if John felt cheesy about laughing at his own, bad joke? Well, at least it made Alexander give him something of a smile.

*

Exactly forty-five minutes later Alexander found himself sitting on a small, grey couch outside of a psychiatrist’s office, flicking through an old newspaper. He scoffed and made a mental note to tell Laurens or really _anyone_ to make sure the papers were up to date. No point keeping old news around, waste of time, waste of space. The man, despite his decision to not entertain such thoughts, could not help but wonder what this doctor, this… _shrink_ would be like. What if they were one of those traditional psychiatrists who merely grasped the surface and expected to know everything about him, based on his files?

“Mr. Hamilton?” a soft, melodic voice asked. There was an ever so slight accent to it and that coaxed Alexander to look up, to face the man. He sounded somehow familiar, reminded him of the way people had spoken in St. Croix.  
“Alexander”, he said quietly, getting to his feet. “Mr. Hamilton was my father, for whatever he was worth. Which was honestly not all that much.” The psychiatrist laughed shortly, motioning towards the open door of his reception room.  
“That is something best reserved for our little talks, non?”  
“Certainly.”

They both sat down, Alexander on the small couch and the psychiatrist across from him in a chair.  
“Dr. du Motier”, he introduced himself with a small smile. “Lafayette will do just fine. It is what my friends call me, and I prefer to view my patients in a friendly light. It helps to create a bond of trust. I prefer the pronouns ‘they’ and ‘them’.” The black-haired man nodded, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie.  
“Alexander Hamilton”, he very nearly mumbled.

So the person before him was not exactly as male as his looks suggested? He could live with that – and in all honesty, they looked quite nice. Unblemished skin the shade of milk chocolate, a puff of dark curls pulled onto a bun on the top of their head, chunky black glasses and a long, white coat paired with black jeans and a light blue button-down. In another situation Alexander might even have been drawn to them, but as it was, they were his… professional help. Nothing more.

“Let us start with some more basic questions, ouí?” Lafayette proposed, crossing their legs atop each other and putting their clipboard down. “I would like you to tell me about your childhood and your family. Do you think you could do that?” Listening to the psychiatrist speak was somehow calming. His soft voice and distinctive French accent lulled Alexander into a feeling of – perhaps false – security, but he nodded nonetheless.  
“I think so”, he said, wrapping his arms loosely around himself in some kind of a self-help hug. “It’s been a while since I’ve… really thought about them, of it all, I guess. I mean obviously it left scars, but I tend to avoid the topic. I prefer to focus on the here and now.”

Lafayette huffed softly, marking something down in their papers. They nodded, as if encouraging the smaller of the two to carry on, and pushed their glasses back up with the tips of their fingers.  
“That is not necessarily a bad thing”, they reassured. “However, we must explore _some_ of it in order to… how would you put it… fix this. Make you feel better.” Alexander nodded slowly, something of a wary glint passing in his eyes. He curled up further on the couch, deliberately making himself seem even smaller than he actually was.  
“I’m not really close with what’s left of my family”, the man admitted, keeping his eyes locked on the frayed sleeve of his hoodie. “My father fucked off when I was ten, my mother is no longer with us and my brother… well, I haven’t seen him in what must be six years by now. We don’t speak.”  
“I am sorry to hear that”, Lafayette said, their tone sincere as they jotted down the details. “What separated you from your brother?”  
“I’m not entirely sure. We… just drifted apart, I suppose. Wanted different things. For him it was a family and for me it was… uhm… well, not _this_ ”, Alexander admitted, motioning at their surroundings and earned a soft chuckle from the psychiatrist.  
“Nobody ever does, I am sure.”  
“True.”

*

To say the day had been draining would have been an understatement. Alexander sighed deeply and curled up on his bed, hugging his legs tight against his chest. Sure, the freckled nurse – Laurens – had managed to cheer him up a little, but after a rather tedious session with Dr. du Motier, or Lafayette, as the doctor had insisted for him to address them, all the man wanted to do was curl up and wait for sleep to take over, and it was barely four in the afternoon. Was it _really_ too much to ask for, a moment of uninterrupted rest?

Apparently in the eyes of the universe, yes. Not too far into Alexander’s me-time, his small moment of blissful loneliness, he heard a knock on the door. The man uncurled himself, took a more normal sitting position with a grumble.  
“What is it?” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not due for meds anytime soon. And even if I was, I wouldn’t really… I just want to be alone, okay?” Regardless of his foul mood and resistance, the door cracked open, a female nurse peeking her head through into the room.  
“Mr. Hamilton, your fiancé is here to see you!” she exclaimed, a bright smile lighting up her features. Alexander groaned, burying his head in his hands with a whispered _‘please no’_.

And just like that, the door opened further, allowing Thomas to enter the room. His hair was a mess and there was a thin, pitying smile on his face.  
“Alex”, he breathed, sitting down in a chair next to the bed. “I’m _so_ glad to see you’re okay, darlin’.” Alexander grit his teeth, looking up from his hands with a begrudging smile.  
“Oh, so _now_ you love on me”, he hissed, hugging himself. “That’s not exactly the impression I got when I saw you with your tongue down Madison’s throat. That I’m your ‘darling’.”  
“Alexander, it was an honest mistake, please, hear me ou-…”  
“No.”  
“Alex. Sugar. Please.”

A breathy, bitter laugh and another _‘no’_ , before the smaller of the two leaned the side of his head against his knees, looking directly into Thomas’ eyes.  
“You know what, _Jefferson_? Fuck you. I worked hard to learn to trust you – of all people, _you_ – and you take that trust and shit on it. I’m done playing nice, done looking at your stupid face. You have no right to barge in here, call me darling and sugar and whatever the fuck it is you want me to be, because _clearly_ there is someone else you would rather whisper those words to. Take your fucking ring back, it’s on the nightstand.”

For a moment, Thomas stared at his fiancé with his lips slightly parted, a hurt and confused expression in his eyes. Then he balled his hands into fists, stood up with his jaw clenched.  
“You’re not thinking straight, Alexander. We can work through this”, he said quietly, an almost desperate edge to his voice.   
“On the contrary. I’m _finally_ thinking straight”, Alexander snapped. “Fuck off. I’m sure you have places to be, such as Madison’s ass.” The sound that emerged from Thomas’ throat following the taunt could only be described as a snarl. Without another word the southerner turned on his heels and walked away, determined to not look back, to not acknowledge the damage he had done or admit how much his fiancé’s words had truly stung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that, I actually posted a second chapter! Let me hear from you guys, I have very few joys in this life and your comments happen to be one of them (kudos will suffice too).


End file.
